


Cut Me

by amorluzymelodia



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:19:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorluzymelodia/pseuds/amorluzymelodia





	Cut Me

You used to count. Every time you would take the blade to your skin you would mark a little tick in your journal so even when the scars faded you had a log of what you’d done. Evidence that you’d fucked up, ate too much, slept too long, forgotten something. You’d scream silently, cry and bite your lip so hard it bled before even getting out your razors. But recently it had become so casual. You didn’t cry anymore, didn’t count, didn’t even blink as you took the razor to your wrist, hips and thighs and sat holding tissues to your cuts very calmly.

 

You’d been a hunter since you were little, when your brother had been mauled by a werewolf and your father met the hunter who saved him, who just happened to be John Winchester. You’d known the Winchester boys since that day and had gotten extremely close with them both. In fact, when your father died from a heart attack of all things and John sold his soul to a demon, the boys had offered to take you in. Even though you were only a few years younger than Dean, they both treated you like a little sister, making sure you were okay when you got back from hunts before taking care of themselves, going out of their way to make sure you were comfortable and putting your life before their own.

So how could you tell them you felt so worthless?

How could you tell the two boys you’d grown to love more than anything that each and every day the numbness was growing? That even when Dean told you it didn’t matter that you’d forgotten your knife and had to borrow his, you felt like ripping your hair out in embarrassment. How could you tell them that the scars lining your body weren’t from hunts or falls but from your own failure?

You were sure Sam suspected. He would always check on you after a difficult hunt, or sit with you when he sensed you were feeling down or ask you to leave your door unlocked on nights when you snapped at him or Dean. But he never said anything, didn’t even ask. Dean on the other hand had no idea, and you wanted to keep it that way. While you were close to both of the brothers, your relationship with Dean had ventured past platonic. He’d shared that he had feelings for you and you him but being hunters, the two of you had never really let it get past that. You’d slept together a few times but it hadn’t gotten lovey-dovey or complicated and when he took some girl back to the motel or you flirted with a guy at the bar the two of you just accepted it. You were adults, you could act like adults.

But there was part of you that recently, had felt the need for his arms around you, his heart beating against yours, and for him to tell you everything would be okay and that he loved you. You knew Sam would do those things for you but it wasn’t the same…you weren’t worried he would judge you or be upset with you but you also didn’t want those knowing puppy dog looks shot at you from across the room. Hell, you got that enough already and you weren’t even sure he knew. No, you wanted Dean to be the one to comfort you. But you would never ask him, never even give him a reason to suspect what was going on. He didn’t deserve that added on to all his crap and you didn’t want him to think you weak.

So you kept it a secret. Kept your razors hidden in your phone case or in the same bag as your tampons, where the boys wouldn’t ever think to look. As time went on you got better at hiding your cuts, keeping them clean and wearing long sleeves and pants around the boys. But of course you knew you couldn’t keep that up forever.

The hunt had been more difficult than usual. What you thought was a standard witch maiming women who’d slept with her husband had turned out to be the Asian goddess Hangul, the goddess of marriage who was angry that these women would seduce her husband into breaking his vows. Of course the husband had gotten out of the whole affair free as a bird but you had ran in too quickly and gotten yourself noticed, forcing Dean to run in and save you and almost break his arm in the process. Dean didn’t yell at you, didn’t even accept your apologies but you knew. You’d failed, you could’ve gotten Sam, Dean and yourself killed and ruined the whole hunt.

When you got back to the shitty motel you were staying in you helped Dean get Sam—who’d passed out about fifteen minutes into the drive—into bed and then rushed off to the bathroom, claiming you wanted a shower. Dean said nothing.

You locked the door tightly behind you and retrieved your razor from behind your phone case, wiping the dust that had gathered on your jeans before rolling up your sleeve. There were four neat little lines there that hadn’t quite healed yet, from the last time you’d cut. You couldn’t even really remember what had triggered it that time but it didn’t matter. Tonight you knew; you knew that you’d failed and if Dean wasn’t going to punish you you’d have to do it.

Very calmly, you pressed the blade to your wrist, on top of already healed scars and slowly pulled it across the skin until a thin red line appeared. That released some of the pressure that had been building up since you’d stepped into the Impala but not enough. So you dug the blade into the same cut and raked it across the wound again and again, deepening the cut and causing more blood to fall. Then you added two more cuts and repeated the process. Just as you were about to start on your other arm, a sharp knock at the door stopped you.

“Y/N?” It was Dean. “Are you okay? I don’t hear the shower.”

You took a deep breath. “Y-yeah I’m fine,” you said, your voice coming out weak and hoarse. You cleared your throat. “I just needed to go to the bathroom before I shower is all.”

“You sure?” Dean asked and you heard him lean against the doorframe. “I know the hunt was hard but don’t blame yourself I mean we all screw up, it wasn’t your—“

“Just leave me alone Dean!” You didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did and regretted it immediately.

“Oh, okay,” Dean said awkwardly and you heard him move away.

Now you added a cut for yelling at Dean. You wanted to add more but you didn’t need Dean asking any more questions so you started up the shower and stepped under the spray, barely feeling the sting as you watched the bloody water flow down the drain. You didn’t have anything to wrap the cuts with so you just dried them off and put your shirt back on with a pair of boy short underwear—the boys had seen you in various stages of undress when they had to patch you up and you’d slept with Dean so you didn’t really care about modesty. When you opened the door, Dean was standing right in front of you and you ran smack into him, the contents of your hands falling to the floor. Dean leaned down to pick them up but stopped. It appeared when your phone had dropped the case had popped off, revealing your dirty little secret. Dean picked up the razor slowly and looked at it. You had washed it off any recent blood but there were stains from previous nights when you hadn’t been as careful.

He looked from the razor to your phone and then slowly to you. You wanted to snatch it back and run from the room but the numbness had invaded your brain and you just stood there, watching as though it was a slow motion scene from a movie. But you did pull back when Dean reached for your arm, which must have told him all he needed to know. He gripped your wrist tight enough that you couldn’t break free and slid your sleeve up your arm, seeing the freshly exposed cuts since you didn’t bandage them.

“What the hell?” he breathed, almost to himself and then looked in your eyes. “Y/N, what the hell?”

You tried to pull your arm away and surprisingly he let you. “Just leave it Dean, it’s nothing. I’m taking care of it, just forget it.”

“Forget it?” he demanded. “Dammit Y/N I catch you cutting and you just want me to forget it? I mean we deal with some pretty messed up crap but what could have driven you to do that?”

You just shook your head. “It doesn’t matter, Dean!” you said, moving back into the bathroom but he followed you.

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! Why are you doing this?”

“Because…because…I don’t know!” you shouted, sitting on the toilet and clutching your head in your hands. “I do it because it feels good! It makes me feel alive when I go numb or it’s punishment when I screw something up! It’s just a…a release Dean!” You were breathing hard and your sleeve was still pulled up over your cuts but when you tried to pull it down, Dean was kneeling in front of you, holding your hands tightly.

“Y/N,” he said seriously. “No Y/N stop,” he said when you tried to pull away. “Y/N listen to me. You can’t do this to yourself okay? You are so much better than this.”

You shook your head. “I have to do this Dean. I can’t help it anymore. It’s the only release I get anymore.”

Dean just stared at you for a moment and then stood up, shaking his head and running his hands over his face. Finally he seemed to decide on something and reached into his pocket, pulling out the razor. He did the last thing you expected, and held it out to you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, confused.

“Cut me,” he said simply and you stared at him in shock.

“Dean no!” you exclaimed. “I’m not going to hurt you Dean!”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “That’s bullshit, Y/N, because every time you hurt yourself, you’re hurting me. Sam too. You think we like seeing you hurt or upset? That when a hunt goes wrong we don’t notice how upset you get? When you get injured on hunts or used as bait I nearly go crazy thinking about how much I want to keep you safe. I try so hard to keep you safe out there when really I should have been protecting you from yourself.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m crazy,” you hissed. “I’m not crazy!”

Dean nodded. “You’re right, you’re not. But what you’re doing, this behavior is crazy! How you could think you deserve this, you of all people!” He let out a sort of laugh and you frowned.

“What does that mean ‘me of all people’?” you asked.

“Y/N you’re as close to perfect as a human can get. You’re smart, funny, talented as all hell, and you care more than anyone I’ve ever met. And to top it off you’re drop dead gorgeous!” He ignored your protests. “I’m not lying to you Y/N. You don’t deserve this. So here,” he said, placing the razor in your hand and rolling up his sleeve. “The next time you feel like doing it, cut me. If anyone deserves to be cut it’s me.”

You shook your head vigorously, tears forming in your eyes. “Dean I can’t. I can’t cut you…it’s not…I can’t! This is my burden not yours!” You dropped the razor on the ground and Dean came to you, pulling you into his arms.

“Oh sweetheart. This is my burden too now. You mean more to me than anyone. Even Sam sometimes,” he laughed. “I can’t bear to see you hurt, especially at your own hand. Promise me you’ll stop?”

You wanted to tell him you’d stop, wanted to promise him and make him happy but you couldn’t…you just couldn’t. So you shook your head but he just sighed.

“At least promise me you’ll try?” he asked and this time you nodded; you could promise that much at least. “And promise me next time you feel this way you’ll come to me or Sam. We won’t judge you baby girl, we just want you safe.”

Dean hugged you tighter to his chest and picked up the razor before he led you to bed, laying you down and covering you with the covers gently. He kissed your forehead before holding up your razor.

“I’m gonna keep this okay?” he said and you nodded, hesitating a moment before answering.

“There’s another in my toiletry bag…” you admitted quietly and he nodded, retrieving it and placing them both is his wallet. Then he got some bandages and wrapped your arm gently, cleaning the cuts first.

Dean got into bed with you and wrapped his arms around you tightly, kissing your hair.

“I love you Y/N. Sam does too. Don’t forget that okay?” he whispered.

“Thank you Dean,” you whispered and cuddled into him.


End file.
